Conviction(97)

He pours my milk into my favourite china mug and turns around and notices me, just as ‘Thinking Out Loud’ starts to play.

He smiles his eighteen-year-old Conner smile and I melt a little bit.

“You look beautiful,” he holds his hand out as he speaks.

“I look horrific like someone threw up rhubarb and custard on my face and I had an allergic reaction that made my hair fall out.” My bruises have faded to pale yellow and a pinkish-purple in colour and are barely noticeable now.

He spins me around, before tilting me backward over his knee, then pulls me upright to start dancing around the kitchen with him.

“Well, I love the rhubarb and custard look. I might even taste it later too. Especially if you put your green shoes on for me.”

“You’re obsessed with those shoes.” He licks up my neck to my ear. “I’m obsessed with you,” he says right in it.

Eargasm?

Whispergasm?

I don’t know, but it feels good. So good.

We dance around the kitchen in silence for a bit, until he says in my ear, “Meebs?”

“What?”

“Marry me?”

“Of course.”

He pulls back and looks at me. “Are you serious?”

“As a brain bleed.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Well, neither is calling me a metal head.”

“Yea, now that’s funny.” He bends his knees so we’re eye to eye. I’m not laughing.

“Oh, come on, metal head is funny?”

“You called me bruised brain the other night too. I didn’t laugh then either.”

He throws his head back and gives a big belly laugh. “Bruised brain, now that one was hilarious.”

“D’ya wanna marry me or what?”

His face straightens. “Yeah, sorry. So is it still a yes?”

“Yeah, it’s still a yes.”

“Thank you. Let’s make a baby.”

“We did, it’s still cooking inside me.”

“Well, let’s practise so we know what we’re doing when we make the next one.”

So, right there, right then. With Ed serenading us, we practice.





“I swear to God if you rub my back one more time I will chop off your f*cking hands and beat you with them,” she growls at me through gritted teeth.

“No you won’t.”

“Yes. I. Will.”

“I love you.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No. I. Don’t. This is all your fault. I didn’t sign up for this.”

I reach out to rub her shoulders, but move my hand back to hers when she gives me the look.

I hate seeing her in pain like this. I’m torn between being pissed off and admiring her stubbornness and determination.

“How we doing?” the midwife Sian asks, as she breezes back in.

Meebs gives her the look too.

“Like I’m trying to pull my top lip over my head, but apart from that, fine. Thank you for asking.”

“Meebs,” I warn her.

“What?” She glares at me.

“My vag is going to be ruined after this. Three kids, Con. Three. It’s just never going to be the same.” She grips my hand as another contraction takes hold.

She’s silent and focused all the way through it. Just panting and blowing and I just love her so f*cking much.

“Your vag is perfect. You’ve had two caesareans, Meebs, so stop being a drama queen. Your vag is fine.”

Sian pops her head up from between Meebs’ legs. I have to look away when they examine her. I know it’s medical and has to be done, but I get this angry knot in my chest and belly when someone touches what’s mine. Irrational I know, but it is what it is.

Sian pulls off her gloves, disposes of them, then turns and faces us.

“Okay Nina, here’s the thing. You’ve been here for five hours now.”

“Not through choice,” Meebs interrupts her.

Sian lets out a long sigh, her patience wearing thin. Meebs wanted a home birth, the doctors said no because our boys had to be delivered by emergency C-section. Once they explained the complications that could arise, I said no. Hence the anger, and the look that I’m continually getting from my wife.

“We’ve let you go an hour longer than we normally would, but you’ve made no progress. You’re still only around three centimetres dilated and the baby is starting to show signs of distress. I’m gonna call the doctor down and let them discuss your options with you.”

She turns and leaves. Meebs looks up at me and I know what’s coming.

She bursts into tears.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so crap at this.”

I climb up on the bed with her, kissing first her belly, then her mouth.

“You’re not crap at this. You’re just too little.”

“It’s your fault. Our kids all have big fat heads like you.” I chuckle at her instant mood change. Meebs is the happiest pregnant woman I know. She loves being pregnant and I f*cking love her being pregnant. That’s why she’s about to give birth to our third child, in less than five years. There’s just something that brings out the caveman in me when I watch her belly growing. Not that she ever gets very big. She moans that she’s huge, but she just looks like she has a basketball shoved up her T-shirt.